Possibly, possibly not. Hard to tell, you know? Although the little silver-haired man in the red tunic's prone to watching things himself. You never know what you might see.
(In his case, 'what you might see' includes an extremely small, sleepy puppy curled up between his forearm and his chest.)
"Something like," he answers, not looking up. The pup's just started squirming, and usually that means he wants feeding... ah, no, he's gone back to sleep. "I found him with his mama yesterday."
He starts to say something else, but he looks up first. It seldom hurts to know who you're talking to.
... although in this case he has the oddest feeling he ought to know already.
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"Hello," she says, hugging him. "Nice to see you."
There may also be cookie theft going on. Maybe.
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There might also be hair-tugging.
Just a little.
"It is good that you did not say 'again', perhaps."
Mostly because it is not entirely accurate.
He might try to snatch a cookie back.
Just one.
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"I am observant sometimes. It helps."
And that cookie is getting stolen back because he has quite enough.
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"Possibly I cannot imagine how, yes?"
He is not laughing.
Really.
"It is a failing."
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(In his case, 'what you might see' includes an extremely small, sleepy puppy curled up between his forearm and his chest.)
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"It is like a baby, that?"
He means the puppy.
Probably.
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He starts to say something else, but he looks up first. It seldom hurts to know who you're talking to.
... although in this case he has the oddest feeling he ought to know already.
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Raven tilts his head, the movement oddly birdlike.
"It is not a thing I might have expected."
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The are also decidedly not soy. Bar would have to be terribly depraved to put soy in Christmas cookies.
Decorated sugar cookies, Hershey bon-bons and raspberry jam thumbprints, to be precise.
Ace has good taste. Obviously.
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He would not dream of disputing it.
Though he does poke at the raspberry jam part of the thumbprints.
"It is meant to be congealing, perhaps?"
Blood does strange things, but--not like this.
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"Raven. Cookies don't congeal. They bake. It's part of the definition."
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Then he tries one of the thumbprints.
He looks almost startled.
"It is not blood, that."
Woe. And yet--jelly-ish goodness.
He is torn.
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